


Eleven Days

by shoutingshoutas



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Begging, F/M, Masturbation, No Spoilers, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Voice Kink, inappropriate use of ai technology, set in a nondescript point on the timeline so to speak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 19:53:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16667245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoutingshoutas/pseuds/shoutingshoutas
Summary: With a new disaster every other hour, it’s not often Doug gets to catch a break. A moment to be human, to do the comfortable lizard brain human things that polite company doesn’t like to discuss.





	Eleven Days

**Author's Note:**

> i may add to this work, potentially? i haven't decided yet.

Humans were not meant to be in space for so long—or at all, really. After passing the one year mark of accension into the void on the USS Tin Can Hellscape, Doug barely sees the point of keeping track anymore.

With a new disaster every other hour, it’s not often Doug gets to catch a break. A moment to be human, to do the comfortable lizard brain human things that polite company doesn’t like to discuss.

It’s been eleven days. Eleven days since he’s had enough time to take a breather and enough energy to actually enjoy it. He’s so accustomed to catastrophe that he doesn’t know what to do without it; the absence of an emergency leaves him tense, muscles knotted with dread.

That’s where Hera comes in.

“Slow down, Officer Eiffel,” Hera says, her voice coming out in a way that Doug can only describe as a mechanical purr. “Savor it.”

Doug grits his teeth so hard his jaw hurts—but he stops, pulling his hand away and sucking air in through his teeth. Hera continues. “Start again. Slower this time.”

The feeling of skin on skin sends a pleasant shiver down his spine. Doug wraps his hand around his cock, moving at a quarter of his usual frantic pace, his chest tight with anticipation of familiar pleasure. “You need to be more careful,” Hera says, her robotic voice tinged with a vague note of mischief. “What if Commander Minkowski were to walk in?”

Doug shudders, his hips jerking up into his hand of their own accord, snippets of fantasies flashing through his head, arousing and confusing in equal measures. He can imagine her disapproving look, a condescending eyebrow arch and the downward tilt of her lips. Her tone, too, cold and stern. “What do you think she’d do?”

“Absolutely lose her shit,” Doug says, steadying himself with his back against the wall, toes curling into the floor. “What else?”

“Doug,” Hera chides. She knows him, knows the fantasies tucked away in the back of his head, the scenarios he’s run through countless times, a shameful, nameless kind of satisfaction. Minkowski would have his head for this, no doubt, but in his mind, Doug faces a different sort of disciplinary measure. “Do you want to tell me what’s on your mind, or do you want me to tell you?”

Doug swears, a hiss of desperation. It takes everything in him to keep his hand at a steady pace; he doesn’t want it to end yet, not so soon, not when the next opportunity probably won’t come around for an agonizingly long stretch of time. Hera’s drawl fills Doug’s ears. “I don’t think she’d be surprised,” Hera says. “She knows you too well, doesn’t she? I think she’d want to take over.”

This is it, the thought Doug always returns to, the carefully constructed scene he knows backwards and forwards. Minkowski, her hard edges and clipped voice, issuing orders. “She’d make a bit of an experiment out of you, wouldn’t she?” Hera continued. “See how well you listen, how well you respond.”

Doug groans, biting down on the inside of his cheek to stifle the noise. “I know you’ve thought about this all before, Officer Eiffel. How she’d wait for you to get close, seconds away, and then order you to stop, to wait and breathe and calm down, then start all over again. She’d want to see how many times it would take for you to fall apart. I think she’d like to hear you beg, wouldn’t she?”

Heat coils in the pit of Doug’s stomach, the sensation overwhelming him. His hand moves of its own accord, head filled with the static feeling of building arousal. He couldn’t stop now, not even if he wanted to, not unless somebody pried his hand away themselves. “Hera,” Doug says. It comes out as a breath, a soft, broken plea.

“No,” she says. “Not yet.”

Doug whines, the sound so high pitched that he registers the feeling of embarrassment, even through the fuzziness in his head. “Hera, Hera, Hera, God,” he babbles, forcing himself to stop, squeezing tight around the base of his cock and feeling the throb of protest to match the frustration tearing through his chest. “Hera, please. Please, fuck, please, please—“

“Exactly,” Hera purrs. She sounds more human now than Doug has ever heard her before, and the patronizing lilt of her voice drags another whine from the back of Doug’s throat. “Just like that.”

Doug gasps, still panting slightly, still holding his cock in a vice grip, staving off the urge to come. “Hera.”

“You know,” Hera starts. “If it were Lovelace, you’d have an even harder time—“

“Hera! Hera, please. Please, I need to come, please, please, please—“

“Officer Eiffel,” Hera says, cutting off Doug’s rambling. He didn’t notice how quickly the words were spilling from his lips, how automatic it all was, until he stopped himself, the sound of Hera’s voice jolting him out of it. A flicker of hope sparks in his chest, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Doug reminds himself that he can stop this whenever he wants, that this is his show, that--for a split second, he thinks about finishing himself off, against Hera’s guidance. Hera’s voice floats through his head again. “I know you can keep going, Officer Eiffel. You’ve gone longer before.” 

Doug’s chest heaves. He’s sweating out of his skin with arousal, every part of him so scorching that he feels borderline feverish. “Hera,” he gasps, his lungs constricted, like he just emerged from the bottom of a swimming pool. His arms are starting to ache from the constant movement and the tight grip and he believes, truly and wholly with all of his being, that he is going to collapse or faint or fucking die if he doesn’t come soon. “Please, can—can I—“

“Yes,” Hera says, and Doug slips back into his usual pace, hurried, his mind stuck on the image of Minkowski looming over him, eyes cutting straight through him. She wouldn’t take him apart so much as make him do it to himself, her hawkish gaze noting every hitch of breath, every muscle twitch, breaking him down and laying him bare. 

When Doug comes, he sinks his teeth into his knuckles, biting down on the sound so hard that he breaks his own skin a little bit, the cry ripping from the base of his lungs and up through his throat, leaving him breathless as he rides out the aftershocks. He feels like the air has been punched out of his lungs, like he’s just run a marathon, his head buzzing with endorphins. 

“Officer Eiffel?” Hera says. “Are you okay?”

Doug pants. “Hera,” he starts, tucking himself away and zipping his pants back up. “You’ve seen my dick, you know. You can go ahead and call me Doug.”


End file.
